


History throws its shadows

by sapphyshipseverything



Series: Out of Shyness or Shame [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:07:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28516155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphyshipseverything/pseuds/sapphyshipseverything
Summary: Eskel can still feel the nervous energy coming off Jaskier in waves, but he seems much more settled than he did before, which is why it comes as such a surprise when it all goes to hell.aka Eskel’s point of view for Chapter 5 of Out of Shyness or Shame
Relationships: Eskel & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Out of Shyness or Shame [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2083299
Comments: 45
Kudos: 156





	History throws its shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dear readers! This is the surprise that I teased the last couple of chapters, aka Eskel’s POV of The Carrot Incident, aka Chapter 5, since a few of you were asking to see the witchers’ side of the story. 
> 
> If you haven’t read Out of Shyness or Shame, this might not make much sense, so I’d suggest reading that first, at least up to Chapter 5! 
> 
> There’s a content warning/summary in the endnotes if you need it. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and Happy New Year!

Eskel watches his brothers leave camp to go hunting, listening to the frantic heart beat of the boy beside him. 

The lad is so incredibly skittish, it’s almost painful to sit by and watch it. He knows that he really should stop referring to him as a lad. For starters, he has a name- Jaskier- and while he looks startlingly young, Eskel is aware that that’s mostly an illusion arising from his malnourishment. His sunken cheeks emphasise his big, cornflower blue eyes making him appear younger than he is, and despite being almost as tall as Geralt, his borrowed clothes hang loosely on his frame. Still, between his height and the faint layer of stubble it’s obvious that Jaskier is indeed an adult, if a young one. 

And yet Eskel can’t help it: every time he looks at Jaskier he sees the ghost of every doe-eyed witcher-in-training, ready to face their death at the Trials.

It’s that double image in Eskel’s mind every time he looks at him that makes him want to set Jaskier at ease, along with the potent scent of fear coming from him that never seems to lessen. Eskel sighs, knowing a witcher is not best suited for the task of soothing the lad. Humans are always so terrified of witchers, their ignorance easily warped into disgust and fear. Eskel supposes they can’t help it, not when the children of the Continent are fed a steady diet of propaganda against witchers from before they can even talk, not when the Schools- those that still survive- do little to discourage the hateful lies. To be fair, not all of the stories are completely untrue. The life of a witcher is harsh, and often grisly. To hunt monsters, you have to understand them, and so it makes a twisted sort of sense that witchers are viewed as monsters themselves by those fortunate enough to live a sheltered life away from the constant mortal danger of the Path. It doesn’t make the fear any easier to bear. 

Pulling his thoughts from the depressing turn they’ve taken, Eskel decides that perhaps a few chores around camp will help Jaskier settle in. If not, well. At least they’ll have got something useful done while the others are away. “Right, now that those two are gone, time to get to this place straightened out. Come on.” 

They start off with laundry, since the clothes will need as long as possible to dry over by the fire. Jaskier, to his credit, takes to the task with far less complaining than Eskel expected; even he had been known to moan when given chores around the keep by Vesemir or one of the other mentors growing up. In fact, Jaskier hasn't complained at all, not once. Not even when it’s clear that he’s unused to this kind of work and is struggling to keep pace with Eskel’s efficient scrubbing. 

He keeps glancing over at him worriedly, in what the lad probably thinks is a subtle manner, as if afraid he’ll be reprimanded for being too slow, before ducking his head and scrubbing his own piece of clothing twice as hard. 

Where the lad came from remains a mystery. From his vocabulary- as little as he’s spoken so far- Eskel had assumed that Jaskier was someone of noble birth who had run into trouble at the hands of a band of thieves while travelling alone, which is a common occurrence in the isolated backwaters that make up the edges of a kingdom like Redania. But he hasn’t met many nobles willing to lift so much as a finger to help with menial tasks such as this, and definitely not with the manic fervour with which Jaskier is dedicating himself to them.

Together they get through the laundry quickly. There’s still another bag of it back at camp that Eskel had intended to get clean as well, but Jaskier’s hands look rubbed raw, and he can see the way his muscles shake as he rings the water out of one of Lambert’s shirts, so he decides to take pity on him and find something else for them to do. Rigging up a makeshift clothesline is a bit more tricky than Eskel anticipated- it’s all about picking the right trees to use as anchors- but they get the clothes hung up all right, even if Jaskier is a bit clumsy in his execution. 

The lad really does look close to collapse after the exertion though, his cheeks ruddy and his brow damp with sweat. He notices Jaskier rolling his shoulders as if trying to rid himself of pain when thinks he isn’t looking. The only discomfort Eskel feels is a slight numbness in his hands from the cold water- he doesn’t know if all humans tire this easily, or if Jaskier is just that exhausted, but he decides to find a gentler task for them both to allow the lad a chance to catch his breath. 

He struggles for a moment to think of something. Dinner doesn’t need to be started just yet- it’ll be a few hours yet before Lambert and Geralt will return with the meat. He could brew something, he supposes. He doesn’t have the ingredients for much on hand- he needs to stock up, but he’s been rather short of coin this season, and hasn’t had the luxury of carrying spare ingredients he doesn’t immediately use up. He looks around the forest, at the vines of ivy encircling the tree trunks around them. Hmm- he could make some Hederean Extract. That, he could sell before they get to Kaer Morhen, or use along the way. 

Mind made up, he gives Jaskier the easy job of plucking individual leaves from the vine, explaining the benefits of the extract in treating a variety of ailments when he seems interested in the process. Jaskier soaks up information like a sponge, the most engaged and least fearful Eskel has seen him. He finds himself rambling on as he goes through the motions of making the elixir, glad to have found something to do that doesn’t frighten the poor lad at last. 

It’s amusing to see his curiosity at  _ Igni _ . Eskel uses it so often that it’s become commonplace to him, something mundane, but watching Jaskier’s fascination makes him nostalgic for his younger days, when the prospect of a life on the Path seemed thrilling, or at least noble, rather than a monotonous slog. 

Eskel places the pot containing the extract at the edge of the fire once the firewood isburning steadily. “Right, that’ll need to brew for a few hours, undisturbed.” 

He takes a mental note of the time, and decides that now is as good a time as any to get started on preparing a meal. “Well, no matter what they bring back, we’ll need to bulk out the meal with something else- plus we still have some vegetables left that need using up. Here, you can help me chop.” 

Eskel surprises himself by not even hesitating to hand Jaskier a weapon, as piddly and unintimidating as the small pocket knife is, but it’s not like he’d get very far if he did decide to do something stupid, and something tells Eskel that Jaskier is more than intelligent enough to not bother trying. Judging by the look on his face, the lad understands the gesture of trust being extended to him. 

“You do the carrots, I’ll work on the potatoes.” 

“Yes, Eskel,” Jaskier replies, his voice barely above a whisper. 

They pass maybe a quarter of an hour in companionable silence, working their way steadily through the vegetables. Eskel can still feel the nervous energy coming off Jaskier in waves, but he seems much more settled than he did before, which is why it comes as such a surprise when it all goes to hell. 

Eskel’s eyes are focused on his own makeshift chopping board when it happens, but Jaskier’s yelp of pain and the sudden, slight smell of burning flesh make it obvious what’s happened- the searingly hot metal rim of the pot and tender human skin have collided, giving Jaskier a nasty burn. 

In his surprise, Eskel reflexively scolds the lad, used to having to cloak his concern with gruffness when dealing with the injuries of his fellow grumpy witchers. It only takes a split second for him to regret his instinctive response, as to his horror the slight reprimand shatters Jaskier’s composure, which he’s been valiantly trying to hold on to all day. He drops to the floor like a puppet who’s strings have been cut, and starts to babble out apologies while he shakes like a leaf.

“I know, I didn’t mean to, Eskel. I’m sorry! I’m sorry, it was an accident, please. I’m sorry!” Jaskier’s voice rises in pitch as he talks, his eyes screwed tightly shut as if deathly afraid to even look at him. 

Ah, fuck. 

“Jaskier, it’s okay. Just keep calm for me, it’s alright.” Eskel tries to calm him down with words, afraid to spook the lad further, but he can tell that his words are having little effect. Mud seeps into the fabric of Jaskier’s breeches where he sits on the forest floor, and though his eyes are now open, he stares blankly at a spot just past his own knees. 

Eskel moves slowly, concerned about startling Jaskier further, confused by how a simple burn could have triggered such fear. Jaskier doesn’t seem to even notice him move, so he places his hands carefully on the lad’s shoulders, trying to get him to look up, but he has no reaction beyond shaking more. He isn’t sure what to do, so he moves one of his hands to the nape of Jaskier’s neck, murmuring the lad’s name, trying to at least get him to look at him. Maybe there’s something more seriously wrong here that Eskel is missing. 

To Eskel’s relief, that gets him to look up, though his relief doesn’t last long when he sees that Jaskier’s pupils are blown wide with fear. Before Eskel can decide what would be best to do to calm him down, the lad is reaching for the front of his trousers, trembling fingers groping him clumsily with an unnervingly single minded focus. 

Is he possessed? Under some sort of spell? Eskel can’t feel any hum coming from his medallion that would signal magic, nor are there any creatures that he knows of that could have this strong an effect, at least not from out of sight. 

“Jaskier, what are you doing?” says Eskel sternly, hoping that the question will be enough to get him to stop, but Jaskier is too focused on his task of trying to paw at him (now that he’s succeeded in getting his trousers half untied) that he cannot seem to hear him. He tries a few more times futilely to get Jaskier to listen to him, but ultimately he decides that he has to physically put a stop to this before it goes any further. He grabs hold of Jaskier’s wrists to pull his hands away, trying to keep his grip firm but not cruel. Almost immediately, Jaskier goes still, his breathing so shallow that it’s inaudible to even Eskel’s ears. 

“Jaskier, stop.” 

That seems to make Jaskier panic again, bringing back some awareness to his eyes as he makes eye contact with Eskel. His face is drawn and pale, all the blood drained from his cheeks. He licks his lips slowly. Eskel would almost take it as a seductive gesture if that didn’t make absolutely no sense. Eskel knows he should soften the frown on his face lest he scare the lad further, but he’s just so confused. 

“Do you not like your partners to be hands on when they’re apologising?” say Jaskier, voice breathy and thin. ”That’s alright, my mouth is  _ very _ talented all on its own.”

Jaskier leans forward, trying to reach for Eskel with his mouth. Eskel tightens his grip on his wrists, sparing a wince for the added pain his fingers are sure to cause, trying desperately to push Jaskier  _ away _ . What sort of despicable rumours are the humans spreading about witchers that the lad thinks this is an appropriate response? 

In his anger at the thought of such demeaning lies circulating the Continent, Eskel uses a bit more strength than he means to. Jaskier doesn’t fight his grip, and so he leans perilously close to the flames of the fire. Eskel curses his own inattention, pivoting them both so that he’s the now closest to the fire, afraid that Jaskier doesn’t have enough awareness right now to even notice if he fell into the flames. 

“Stop. I don’t want that from you,” Eskel says as firmly as he can manage. 

A strange look passes over Jaskier’s face, as if he’s contemplating something complex. 

“Are you not interested in men? It’s okay, I don’t mind. ” Jaskier smiles, but the look is unsettling, almost manic. Eskel is rapidly realising that this situation is spinning out of control, as to his horror Jaskier continues to speak. “A blowjob from me will feel just as good as one from any whore if you close your eyes, I swear. I won’t take it personally.” 

Eskel feels sick at the implication, that he’s so desperate for sex he’d take it from anyone, even someone so obviously terrified. When Jaskier leans forward again, he doesn’t think through his next actions, his thoughts jumbled in his panic. He falls back on his training, on what he would do if Jaskier was a real threat. 

His fingers form the shape of  _ Aard  _ easy as breathing, and he lets a spark of chaos loose to fuel the sign, using the smallest amount he can manage in an effort not to harm Jaskier, only to snap him out of this state he’s in. 

Not his best plan, admittedly, as even that small amount of magic has a large effect on Jaskier, who’s clearly disorientated, hands drawn protectively to cover his head and face contorted in pain. 

“You’re not okay with this, you’re shaking from head to foot. You’re hurt, Jaskier. Stop.”

Jaskier seems utterly defeated. The stench of fear threatens to make Eskel gag, though he makes a great effort to keep himself outwardly calm as he approaches Jaskier again. “Jaskier. I need you to listen to me for a moment- can you do that for me?” 

Jaskier nods slowly. Eskel can tell already that he’s still not quite taking in information as he should, but he needs to make it clear that whatever Jaskier has heard about witchers and their...sexual appetites is wrong. He can repeat himself later if he needs to, but he needs to say this now. “Sexual favours are not something I need from you. They are not something that I require. Not now and not ever. I do not want you like that. Do you understand?”

Jaskier shivers. “I understand, sir.” 

Eskel’s heart clenches at the use of the honorific. Despite his own anger at the assumptions being made about his character, it’s plain to see that the lad is petrified. Lines of communication have clearly become muddled somewhere, and the lad has borne the brunt of the consequences for it. “Just Eskel is okay, lad. Can you tell me why you thought I wanted that from you?” 

Jaskier looks on the verge of tears. “I was trying to apologise, Eskel. For being careless and ruining the food. I didn’t want you to be angry with me,” he pauses, breath catching in his throat. “I  _ don’t  _ want you to be angry with me.”

Gods, Eskel can practically see the insulting gibberish written in some bestiary somewhere:- “ _ To appease the beastly Witchers, one must appeal to their beastly nature. Like all beasts, Witchers are slaves to their baser instincts and cannot control their carnal urges. If one has accidentally angered a Witcher, it is best to use sexual favours to placate them.”  _

Eskel sighs. “I’m not angry. I was just worried that you were hurt. Will you let me have a look at your hands?” he asks, crouching down in front of him. 

Jaskier holds his arms out, his manner still eerily docile. Eskel pushes down his worry at that, focusing on being practical and checking his physical injuries. The burn doesn’t look bad- he sure that it’s painful, but it’s minor- but to Eskel’s shame there are also red marks that he already knows will shortly turn to bruises, left behind by his own hands. 

“Shit, I’’m sorry, Jaskier. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

His words get no reaction. Ah, shit-  _ Aard  _ is probably enough to give a human a concussion, even the weakened form of the spell that he used. Jaskier doesn’t seem to be concussed when Eskel checks him over, but he’s clearly disorientated and nursing a sore head, if the little winces he tries to hide every time he moves his head too abruptly are any indication. “I knew I shouldn't have used  _ Aard _ on you, but I didn’t know how else to get you to stop. You don’t seem to have a concussion, but I probably gave you a headache on top of everything else. You feel any sickness or nausea?” 

Jaskier tries to nod, but he ends up coming dangerously close to falling over. Eskel helps him upright again, and then rushes over to where he keeps his personal medical supplies, grabbing his bag and bringing it over to tend to Jaskier’s injuries. He makes sure to tell Jaskier exactly what he’s about to do and exactly what the purpose of each treatment he gives him, mostly as a way to calm himself down, but also because it seems important to keep Jaskier informed about what is being done to his body in light of everything. 

Once his immediate injuries have been tended to, Eskel brings his attention back to Jaskier’s mental state. He can tell that Jaskier is still in a bad way, the lad having withdrawn into himself, out of shock, most likely. He moves them both into a more comfortable position, getting Jaskier to chew some mint to help with nausea and to drink some water slowly. 

He decides to give the lad a few moments of semi-privacy as he gets the camp back in order, finishing preparing the vegetables as quickly as possible and tiding the area surrounding the fire. At least the horses are happy to receive a few unexpected treats, he thinks wryly. 

He returns to Jaskier’s side, unsure how to proceed. The only thing he can think to do is to treat Jaskier the way he would a highly strung mount, rubbing his back in a predictable up-down pattern and murmuring pleasant nonsense at him until his breathing falls back into a normal rhythm. Eskel lets silence fall once that happens, but he doesn’t stop his gentle rubbing, afraid to upset the calmness again. 

Eventually, Jaskier is the one to break the silence, his voice steady but his tone hesitant. “What happens now?” 

Good question. Eskel considers his answer carefully. “I was going to recommend you lie down for a bit before dinner. See if that helps your head.” Eskel smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring manner, bringing his arm briefly to squeeze around Jaskier’s shoulders to hopefully comfort the lad. 

Jaskier doesn’t appear to feel comforted, if his carefully blank expression is anything to go by. “No, I mean. What happens when they get back?”

What will happen when Lambert and Geralt come back? How does Eskel even begin to explain what the fuck just happened when he doesn’t fully know himself? “Well, they’ll want to know what happened-”

“Please, no.” Jaskier’s voice trembles, full of fear. He’s understandably nervous about the thought of explaining himself. Eskel supposes that if Jaskier was this afraid with just him around, the thought of talking to two more scary witchers about everything must be daunting. 

“I can talk to them for you, if that’s what you’re worried about, explain what happened-”

“I don’t want that. Eskel, please. Please don’t tell them.” 

Eskel frowns. He can’t just not tell his brothers anything. Beyond the fact that it’ll be impossible to hide from them anyway, it’s probably a good idea that they know what happened. “Why?”

“I- Please. I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t tell them. I don’t know what you want me to offer you but-“

Eskel feels sick again at the sheer desperation in Jaskier’s voice, the way he pleads so hopelessly, as if he expects his begging to get him absolutely nowhere. Eskel’s heart goes out to him, but there’s no way they can just hide this from the others. He holds out a hand to get Jaskier to pause his speaking. “They’ll know something has happened, between the burns on your hands and the smell. I’ll have to tell them something. But I can be vague on any details, if that’s what you want- just tell them there was an accident and you got hurt.” 

It’s the best compromise Eskel can come up with on the spot. He doesn’t know why, but his instincts are telling him that respecting Jaskier’s boundaries and not telling his brothers everything is the right move to make here, as much as he wants to have an outside perspective help him sort out what the fuck just happened. 

“Yes, please. Thank you, Eskel,” says Jaskier. He sounds almost worshipful in his thanks. “I’ll make it up to you somehow.” 

Eskel’s stomach turns. “There’s no debt to be paid, Jaskier. Come on, you really should lie down.” 

Jaskier follows him meekly towards the tent. The lad follows his instructions to lie down without any hesitation. He looks so small and frail lying down, his body still shaking slightly with left-over fear; Eskel feels the heavy weight of guilt weighing down on his conscience, ashamed of how he’s handled things this afternoon. He leans over in the small space to grab the topmost fur from the other bedroll, laying it over Jaskier so that at least the cold won’t bother him anymore. 

He swallows thickly, before smiling as reassuringly at Jaskier as he can, the lad watching his expression closely. “I’ll come get you when supper is ready. Try to rest until then, sleep if you can manage it. I’ll be down by the fire, so don’t be afraid to call out if you need anything.” 

With that, Eskel leaves Jaskier in peace. He settles down beside the fire to meditate for a while, hoping that he can at least get his thoughts in some sort of order before the others return to camp.

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning/ summary: while helping to cook dinner, Jaskier burns himself accidentally, leading to him spilling some food. This triggers him, making him believe he is about to be punished unless he offers himself sexually to Eskel in the hopes of appeasing his temper. He tries to touch Eskel repeatedly in his panicked state, even after being told to stop, but he is turned down. Eskel uses his hands to push him back, and also casts Aard to get him to move away. Eskel is at no point angry with Jaskier, and he helps tend to his injuries and calm him down afterwards.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this alternate view on events! It was a fun challenge to revisit scenes from another character’s perspective. Maybe l’ll try something like this again, if this was something you found fun to read. Let me know what you think in the comments, if you’d like ❤️


End file.
